


Of things left unsaid and an abyss not as wide as it seemed

by WheresTheFood



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And love, Crowley Has Feelings (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Ineffable Idiots, M/M, Post-Canon, after dinning at the ritz, ineffable husbands, lots of pinning, overdue talk, pinning, they're so soft, very sweet comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 21:37:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20664197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WheresTheFood/pseuds/WheresTheFood
Summary: But when you're granted your freedom- no, when you seized it with both hands and a kick to your former boss's face, how do you go around taking that first step? How do you walk over the chasm that ceased to exist between you and that one that your heart yearns for so much, for so long?That's exactly what Crowley is asking himself and anyone that cares to listen to his inner musings.Or: long-overdue talk (but not really talk but still resolving feelings) between the ineffable idiots, lots of pinning and yearningFor the ineffable husbands week - day 3 - Fall/Plumet/Dive turned into Leap





	Of things left unsaid and an abyss not as wide as it seemed

**Author's Note:**

> Finally decided to write for the Good Omens fandom! Started this for the ineffable husbands week but ended up being late, as usual, haha Hope you enjoy it nonetheless! No beta this time, we die like men.

For humans, 6000 years was too long, too much. Of what? Time, experiences, feelings? They wouldn’t know. Humans would never know 6000 years wasn’t nearly enough. Not for an angel and a demon that met at the wall of Eden under the first rain that fell on Earth.

6000 years together, but not _together_. Six millennia of history and friendship, of lunch dates and rides on the Bentley, of angelic temptations and demonic miracles. But also, the expanse of their shared time of longing looks and soft smiles, of tender brushing of fingers and yearning hearts, of heroic rescues and quiet _thank you_’s.

Of hope for what could be and fear of what could be lost.

Of course, 6000 years wouldn’t be enough for them.

Since day 1, the Great Plan had two badass-mother-fuckers-but-incompetent-as-fuck adversaries. The war between Heaven and Hell be damned. Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley would have given up any second of their time together. Past, present or future.

_Future_.

Crowley didn’t even dare to hope there would be any future at all. Not after he had seen the bookshop go up in flames, not after Aziraphale’s spirit showed up in the bar to give him instructions to go to Tadfield, not even after Adam had flipped off Beelzebub, Gabriel _and_ Satan in the span of 10 minutes. But when they pulled off their crazy body swap stunt, well, Crowley dared to do something undemon-like. He hoped there would be a future, filled with crepes and the best reds Aziraphale could miracle into his wine cellar, where fraternizing with the enemy would no longer be a dangerous act and strolls by St. James Park and quiet evenings in the bookshop could finally be freed from the dread of either Heaven or Hell finding out about their time together, but not _together_.

Oh, but Crowley’s traitorous heart dared to go one step beyond, picturing a future of intentional caresses and soft praises seared into skin, of romantic picnics and stargazing dates, of the barriers around their hearts finally shattering leaving both exposed and vulnerable but oh so blissfully happy.

No more looking over their shoulders, no more of Aziraphale sneaking a glance up to make sure no one upstairs had heard them, no more thermos filled up with an insurance plan for when everything would go to shit.

No more of the Arrangement being their only excuse to spend time together.

Because when the fear of either of their sides finding out about their history together (but not _together_) was finally extinguished- the stubborn ember that was always there not letting whatever was between them fully bloom finally gone, sizzling out of existence and wisping into oblivion- both angel and demon find themselves finally free. Shackles torn apart and reduced to dust with a breath of hellfire and a request for a rubber duck. No longer tied to their loyalties to above or below, their souls and hearts are finally flying, soaring beyond any boundary, fuelled by 6000 years of memories and feelings, finally reaching for the one that always stood side-by-side since the Beginning of time itself.

But when you’re granted your freedom- _no_, when you seized it with both hands and a kick to your former boss’s face, how do you go around taking that first step? How do you walk over the chasm that ceased to exist between you and that one that your heart yearns for so much, for so long?

That’s exactly what Crowley is asking himself and anyone that cares to listen to his inner musings.

After dining at the Ritz and walking leisurely back to Aziraphale’s bookshop, the angel had invited the demon for a nightcap to ‘_check that everything was truly back as it formerly was_’. And after three bottles that laid askew on the carpet and a lengthy discussion on who was the best dancer out of the two, Crowley finds himself standing so close, _too close_, to Aziraphale, staring directly into the expanse of deep blue eyes. With every breath the angel takes, his chest comes to barely ghost over Crowley’s own, their clothing being a useless barrier for the warmth seeping from the angel’s body and crawling under the demon’s skin.

No words are exchanged. Both lost deeply into each other’s gaze. Crowley barely remembers he had tossed his dark glasses onto a table the moment the bookshop’s door was shut closed.

Keeping the Bentley going though alight with hellfire, stopping time, even facing Satan, were all a walk on St. James Park for Crowley. Simple, a snap of fingers, an unflinching thought, an overachieving imagination and he had control of the situation. Kind of. At least better than now. Because the longer he looks into the angel’s eyes, the more he finds his heart stammering. The questions, the yearning, the self-doubt swirling in those blue orbs are all too familiar to the demon as he had seen them countless times in his own reflection. The sucker punch to the gut is the intense love he sees flickering there, a well-controlled blaze, for the fear of what could be consumed if it were to be let free, but burning more fiercely than any hellfire tornado or holy flaming sword.

And all of that directed to Crowley.

He sucks in a breath that he needn’t but felt too necessary to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest.

“Aziraphale.” His voice is breathy, the word almost not slipping past his lips.

The angel seems to come out of his trance and blinks once but he doesn't step away, even with his head craned slightly back to make up for their height difference. His eyes flicker from Crowley's gaze to his lips momentarily, to the crease of his brow, to the sharp of his jaw and return to Crowley's eyes.

There are questions lingering in Aziraphale’s irises, written in ink that seeps into the angel’s heart.

_How to close this distance that I’d adamantly build between us? _

_How is it to finally live free? To love freely?_

_Will you take my hand if I reach for you, my dear? After everything I did to you? After how much I’ve hurt you?_

Crowley’s answer comes in the form of his hand reaching to cup Aziraphale’s cheek. So slowly, so gently, giving the angel every opportunity to move away. Blue eyes stay fixed on the demon’s golden gaze. When Crowley’s fingers finally graze the angel’s skin, Aziraphale closes his eyes, a shudder passing through him, revealing in the touch.

“Crowley.” The word is a plea on the angel’s lips and it should feel wrong but oh, it feels so right.

A police car passes just outside the bookshop, its siren casting red and blue lights through the blinds. The light dances over Aziraphale’s blonde curls. The light comes and goes as fast as the beating of Crowley’s stammering heart, but the damage is done nonetheless. 

Crowley’s fingers twitch and for a moment he falters. Words crawl their way from the depth of his less enjoyable memories.

_‘You go too fast for me, Crowley._’

Because Crowley could deal with the fissure between them originating from their loyalties to their respective sides. And with those out of the way, he never stopped to consider that the chasm could still be there. Not out of fear of above or below, but out of a rift between their hearts’ desires. A void of rejection that remains open to pull Crowley down to the deepest darkness the moment he dares to take the first step.

He almost withdraws his hand. Almost stumbles back into the safety of known terrain, before a hand reaches for his.

As if sensing his distress, Aziraphale places his hand on top of Crowley’s, trapping it against his cheek. Blue eyes open and stare into serpentine ones, offering comfort, offering love.

“It’s okay, dearest.” The angel’s words drip like the sweetest honey and Crowley can do nothing but choke in a sob. Relief floods him, washing away the doubts, the questions, the anxiety.

“It’s okay.” Aziraphale repeats.

Then, Crowley is leaning in, until their noses are touching, and their breaths mingle together. An echo of what transpired between them a couple of days ago at a former Satanic convent but without the wall pressing against Aziraphale’s back, and without the snarl on Crowley’s lips and a speech on how demons are never nice. And thankfully, without the woman who had horribly timed her walking in on them to ‘_break such an intimate moment’_.

Would he have kissed Aziraphale then?

Will he now?

Crowley stops for a second if only to bask in the beauty of Aziraphale, on the blush dusting the angel’s cheeks, on the warmth of his skin against Crowley’s, on the smell of his new cologne that yes, Crowley had noticed the day Aziraphale’s barber had recommended it to the angel.

‘_I know what you smell like_,’ he had said then but clamped down on the rest of his words before his traitorous tongue would cross him_. I’ve committed it to memory. It’s my favourite smell, you know. Since forever, since Eden. There’s nothing like you. I’ve tried, I’ve looked everywhere and nothing comes close to your scent. It’s addictive. It’s intoxicating. And you know how much I hate to sober up. Never from you. I’m always drunk on your scent._

There are a million and more things Crowley has never told Aziraphale. How _Pale Blue Eyes_ has always and will always be his favourite song by how it reminds him of the angel. How Aziraphale can disarm him instantly with just one pleading look and how he knows the bastard knows what he does to Crowley when he directs one of those looks at the demon and acts all innocently afterward. How much it hurt to think that Aziraphale was gone, lost forever in the fire that consumed the bookshop and how he only wanted to curl there and let the blaze take him away as well; and how he cursed his demon nature once again when the embers did nothing but dance around him, mockingly, taunting him about the loneliness that had suddenly taken over the entirety of his chest.

Suddenly, the pressure of all of these and more topple over Crowley’s mind, wanting nothing more than to spill over the bookshop’s carpeted floor, to drown both of them. Suddenly, Crowley feels like there’s not enough time, too many feelings, too many things left unsaid, too many uncertainties and fears and oh, how painful it feels, and the chasm is suddenly too wide, too frightening, and for all his pretended bravado, Crowley was never a courageous one. But he stands resolutely at the edge, the tips of his shoes hanging over the abyss and a plea on his lips.

_Am I going too fast still? Tell me, Aziraphale. And I will tell you everything I’ve kept quiet. I promise, angel. Just take this ache away. I can’t, I can’t. Angel, please. _

Crowley is both shocked and delighted when the one that closes the distance between them is Aziraphale, touching his lips gently against Crowley’s in the softest and more delicious kiss to ever face the Earth. Crowley’s eyes shut closed and he relishes in the taste of Aziraphale, in the softness of his lips, in the love enveloping his soul, washing away all the pain and the ache and filling it with something holy, something Crowley should not be able to feel but still does. Because it’s Aziraphale that holds him and reassures him. _I’m here. It’s alright. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, I’m here, my darling, please._

How do you take that first step above the chasm distancing both? Simple. You don’t. You leap. You take a _leap of faith_. If humanity has taught them anything is that the best things in life are worth risking for, throwing self-caution to the wind. Embracing the pain, owning the heartache and holding all the unsaid words. Revealing in the history and framing all the feelings in a crystal case to hang in full display on the central wall of your essence.

Because what is life if not for daring the impossible such as flying, such as leaping and hoping someone catches you. Daring the impossible such as the love between an angel and a demon finally, _finally,_ _together_.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! This is my first good omens fic and I hope it won't be the last one. It took me longer than I wanted to post it as I'm still insecure about this. But, I decided that the first fic I write for a new fandom is allowed to suck, and after that I can improve and enjoy writing more and more! Thank you for reading!


End file.
